Little Women

It's a Little Women day today. The trees are dripping gold and red all over the sidewalks, the sky is overcast, and little flurries of snow are twirling around the windows. It's a day for brewing tea or hot chocolate and snuggling on the couch with a blanket while watching the March sisters parade about their attic in costumes and say "Marmy" and be scandalized about Laury putting snow on Meg's ankle. Unfortunately, a DVD of said movie is nowhere to be found. Apparently everyone likes to watch the March sisters at this time of year.

Clearing away the Halloween drawings from my front window and replacing them with Turkeys and ships and corn and Indians and Pilgrims with Jessi, I once again found myself missing my own little women. My sisters, all with beauty and wit and character to rival that of the fictional March sisters. Rachel, Reana, Rebecca, and Risa, my very best friends, my greatest treasures! As I settled for listening to the songs from the stage version of Little Women, my mind came alive with my own memories of growing up with four of the most fantastic women ever to grace the planet and, like Jo, I couldn't help wishing that we'd never grow up and wondering, "Will we never all be together again?" I do so miss the days when we were all together every day.

.... But then I thought of my new sister, Rachel, and my new brother, Blair, and my very new Nephew, Paul. Growing up brings so many changes that are hard for me, but there are the blessings, too. It was hard for me when Rebecca moved out of the house to live with her husband, but Blair proved to be such a great blessing to the family that I was glad she did. Though the family is more spread out these days, it's also growing, and the times we do get to spend together become even more precious. I am so excited for Thanksgiving to come so I can see my beautiful family! It is only the tiniest taste of the excitement I feel for an even greater reunion in the next life.

Bram Stoker and Candy Corns

It's funny how you don't even realize how many family traditions you have until you move away from home. At least, that's been the case for me. We had a perfect, motion-picture-worthy Autumn day here a little over a week ago, and everything about it-- the colors of the turning trees, the overcast lighting, the crisp chill of the air tickling my skin, the smell of wet leaves on the ground, the sound of their squish as I walked over them in my boots, and the cozy confines of a coat and scarf, all shot me with thrilling ease back into the days of past Halloweens and Thanksgivings. The Holiday season is beginning! It's been my favorite time of year for as long as I can recall. The season starts off with my dad's birthday in September and rolls on from there with one family birthday (including my own) after another, mixed in with the best of the holidays. But I have to confess, I've been dreading this joyous time for the past few months. This is the time of family and memories. How can it possibly roll forth without my Risa?

So when I felt the familiar holiday spirit bubbling up in my gut last week without hesitation, I confess it took me by surprise. I ran with the feeling as easily as a piece of straw runs with a river current. Using the spare change in the bottom of my purse, I picked up some little pumpkin candy dishes from the DI and filled them with candy corns.

Then I bought some window crayons and went wild decorating my front window for Halloween. I draped a ribbon made from a pumpkin-patterned fabric over my entryway door frame and perched a dollar-store Dracula figurine on top of the VCR. It seemed that every cheap decoration brought to mind more memories of traditions I'd always taken for granted back home. Like mom's fun Halloween picture books: Cinderella Skeleton and Frank Was a Monster Who Wanted to Dance and Frankenstein Makes a Sandwhich, that sit on the coffee table every year. And the stuffed black cat with the gangly limbs that perches on the piano.

All of the decorations and do-dads gathered over the years from seasonal bazaars and craft stores that I was used to pulling out in the month of October. I miss them all so terribly now. Not so much for what they are, but for the memories behind them. I remember pulling them out of the attic this time last year with Risa. She was much lighter than I, so she braved the broken ladder in my parents' bedroom and passed down the Halloween boxes to me. I can still recall the smell of them-- the smell of rubber masks and tangled wig hairs stuck to old, sticky candy. How we giggled! It never got old, year from year, pulling the decorations from each box and saying, "Oh yeah, remember this?!" and then finding a place to put it.My roommates were all off at school and work as I decorated the apartment. I felt so lonely, missing Risa and thinking back on our last Halloween together. But then I put on some fun Halloween music (thank you Michael Jackson and Tim Burton for your contributions) and cheered up and let myself enjoy this college experience. I even went to the library and checked out my favorite picture books that mom has back home and set them on my little apartment coffee table. And then I checked out Walt Disney's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" (another family tradition) and invited some friends over to watch it with me on Sunday night. Then I went to the library again and checked out Bram Stoker's Dracula-- a classic read for this time of year.

It's been great fun, inviting friends and neighbors to draw something on the window when they come over. So, the moral of the story is... just because things are different, it doesn't mean they can't still be fun. :)

(And yes, the "S" is backwards. YOU try writing on the inside and making it look right!)

La Vita e` Bella

Make me an Instrument

Twenty years old, living far from home, working part time to scrape up enough dough to pay the rent and feed my bottomless pit of a belly, and entangled in the college world as I am, it should come as no surprise to anyone that I've been thinking a lot about my future lately. Where will I go? What will I do? What should I be doing now to prepare for it? Should I continue to flail around helplessly in the treacherous waters of the dating pool, or should I brave the vast mission field? Should I go the medical rout and make bank as a nurse? Should I go into business so I can pursue my dream of opening an adorable pie shop? Should I study teaching so I can have some effect on the rising generation? Or should I be an English Major and, after many years of editing for other writers, some day publish a work of my own? And on top of all of these questions, I'm reminded again and again that I haven't yet evaded the question that preceded them all: where should I go to school?

I was attending BYU as a Visiting Student for the past two terms, but now my time is up and I have to apply to be a Full-time Student. If I am accepted, hurrah! But if not... I'll have to find myself another school. I've been accepted at UVU (Utah Valley University), which isn't far from where I'm living, but I'd have to pay out-of-state tuition there, and I really can't afford it. I suppose I could just continue living and working here until next April, when I'll gain residency and won't have to pay out-of-state, and then I could start at UVU. But if I were to do that, I worry that I'd be wasting a lot of time. You see the dilemma. Boo hoo, poor me, I'm going through what everyone goes through at some time or another.

A good friend of mine played his cello for me and my roommates last night. The instrument had been sitting in my closet for the past two days, silent and still, while he'd been out of town, but it came to life when he held it. As I watched the way Joseph's fingers moved with seeming ease over the strings of the cello, and the way he guided the bow with majestic precision, creating the most beautiful sounds I'd ever heard, the phrase "an instrument in God's hands" came to my mind and lingered. I marveled at what could come out of that cello when it was in the able hands of its master. He knew his cello. He knew what it was capable of, and how to bring out the best it could produce. Without him, it could never have filled my home with such melodious strains, but with him-! My goodness, what a magnificent creation it was!

I thought of myself as an instrument in the hands of my Master. Of myself, I can do little more than a cello sitting in a closet, but if I place my will into the Hands of the Perfect Musician, He can use me as an instrument to accomplish amazing things. He knows me. He knows what I am capable of better than I myself do, and He knows what strings to touch, how to hold me, and how to guide me so that I can accomplish what He wants me to accomplish.

After this beautiful experience, I was led, during my scripture study, to this quote by Elder Henry B. Eyring:

"The real life we're preparing for is eternal life. Secular knowledge has for us eternal significance. Our conviction is that God, our Heavenly Father, wants us to live the life that He does. We learn both the spiritual things and the secular things so that we may one day create worlds and people and govern them. All we can learn that is true while we are in this life will rise with us in the Resurrection. And all that we can learn will enhance our capacity to serve. That is a destiny reserved not alone for the brilliant, those who learn the most quickly, or those who enter the most respected professions. It will be given to those who are humbly good, who love God, and who serve Him with all their capacities, however limited those capacities are-- as are all our capacities, compared with the capacities of God."

Maybe it doesn't matter so much exactly what I do, as much as how I do it. A nurse, a pie-maker, a teacher, a writer... in any one of them, I can accomplish amazing things and be an influence for good in the world as long as I keep my heart in the right place, and allow my Master to do His work through me. No matter where I am in life, He can use me. So whether I start up school at BYU in the Winter, or work until April to attend UVU, or go to another school entirely, or serve a mission... as long as I am anxiously engaged in good causes, immersing myself in good books, practicing what skills I do have and working at gaining new ones, serving those around me, magnifying my calling, and diligently applying/preparing for school, it won't be a waste of time. I already have a stack of books in my room that I'm going to read, starting with the autobiography of Helen Keller. I'm going to pick up writing again. I'm not going to waste this time I have. I'm going to let myself be an instrument in the Lord's hands to accomplish whatever it is that He wants me to accomplish while I'm here-- because I know that I am where I need to be, even if I don't know exactly why.

I'm reminded of a song I sang in Encore choir a few years ago:

"Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. Where there is hatred, let me bring love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. Where there is sadness, joy."

I still don't know for sure what I'm going to do, but the moral of the story is... it's ok. For now, at least. I'll do all I can, and not just wait around for things to happen. I'm learning to be grateful for this time in my life that I'm learning patience and diligence and humility and what it takes to make things happen. Whatever happens, or doesn't happen in the winter, I won't be enrolled in school during the Fall, and this will be a great opportunity for me to learn how to be an instrument in the Lord's hands.

Blue Skies

I lift my eyes, the cloud grows thin.
I see the blue above it.
And day by day this pathway smooths
since first I learned to love it.
The Peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
a fountain ever springing.
All things are mine, since I am His.
How can I keep from singing?


I sang this folk hymn with my sisters at Risa's funeral three months ago, and the words held so much meaning for me then, but it's amazing how every stanza continues to touch me more and more deeply as time passes.
The day we learned that Risa was dying, I stood in the hospital and looked out the window so she wouldn't see me crying. I remember that the window was very big, and the sky was covered in gray clouds, except for one long, clear, bright patch of blue. When dramatic things happen in your life, somehow everything takes on some meaning to you (at least, it tends to be that way with me), and this was one of those times. I remember feeling bitter at first, thinking of the clouded sky as a representation of reality- dark and gray and gloomy- and the blue patch as the few months that I thought Risa was going to get better. It didn't seem fair! Why had we been allowed to have such hope? Why those happy months, when it was all going to end so suddenly? What a cruel trick for the Lord to play on us. Thankfully, these bitter thoughts didn't last too long before I was shown that I was wrong. A paradigm shift revealed that the clouds weren't reality, but just the veil that is drawn over reality by this mortal state. The blue patch- that time we had with Risa when we thought that she was going to make it- was actually a window into what was real. Reality is that behind the clouds, there is nothing but blue sky. It may sound silly, and maybe it doesn't even make sense, but I took great comfort in it at the time. It was peaceful to think of those happy months with Risa as a window into eternity. In eternal reality, we will always be together without fear of death or sickness or anything else.

Even with all the comfort and sweet peace that the gospel provides, there are days that it's still hard. It's hard when the ache of missing Risa is so strong it hurts and the veil is thick. When I visited home over the 4th of July weekend, I was extremely nervous on the plane. I'd been away from home and family since the day of Risa's graveside service. It was a long ride back. My dad had purchased the cheapest possible airfare available on such late notice, and as a result I had to switch planes in Denver and again in Seattle, making it a 5-hour trip. My stomach seemed to squirm and twist inside me. I'd received a glorious phone call from Rebecca and Blair that morning, informing me that I was now an aunt!

Baby Paul Corson Hasler had been born at 8:01 that very morning! I was itching to see him and hold him in my arms! In that respect, it seemed I couldn't get to Oregon soon enough. But then on the other hand, I was terrified to go back to the place where Risa had died. I was terrified to find my old, beloved world changed.
My brother, Ryan, picked me up at the airport in Portland. I tried not to think of the last time we'd been together in Oregon. As we drove through Portland (my beautiful Portland), the memories barraged me with more force than I'd anticipated. Not just memories of Risa-- but memories of past relationships and friendships. Good times and bad, all swirled together in one, big, emotional tide-pool. I found my feet pressing on the floor of the car, as if that would somehow slow us down, and I shrank in my seat. We were going too fast. We were getting to close. I realized I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't ready to pass the Doernbecher Children's Hospital, where I'd spent several long nights during Risa's chemo treatments. I wasn't ready to pass the Portland Zoo, where my sisters and I had gone with Risa the weekend before she'd started chemotherapy. I wasn't ready to see the Allen freeway exit. I wasn't ready to see the Taco Time on Lombard. I wasn't ready to see the Taco Wagon and the Shell gas station on Hall Blvd. I wasn't ready to see the little park on the corner. I wasn't ready to turn at the green sign that read "Barlow"! Before I knew it, we were pulling in front of the big white house on the corner of Barlow and Lilly. There was dad's work van. There was mom's green Ford Escape. I noticed that a new baby tree had been planted to replace the old one that had died. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

My feet made their way unwillingly to the door. Not the beautiful blue one on the porch-- the mudroom door. The handle was still as finicky as ever, and my stomach knotted at the way the door stuck at first and the familiar scraping sound it made as it was pushed open. It's strange how such little things come to mean so much.
The mudroom was empty, as usual. But even as I stood in its entryway, the house felt different. Too clean. Heavy. It smelled good, but the scent was unfamiliar. I felt like a stranger here.
Bowser looked like he was about to attack me at first (some strange girl invading his castle!), but after a moment of hearing me squeal his name in the customary overzealous greeting, his stubby tail began to wag, he trembled with excitement and welcomed me home.
It was so strange, and wonderful, and painful, to see mom and dad again. Dad looks older.
Finally dad took me to the St. Vincent Hospital to meet my new nephew. The last time I'd been in that building, it was to learn that Risa's liver was failing and she had mere days left to live. I kept my fists tightly clenched as I walked through the sliding glass front doors, past the

too-familiar front desk, the sickeningly pleasant gift shop, the statue of an angel... it was all like walking into my worst nightmare. Dad seemed to be reading my thoughts. "I haven't been here since Risa..." he said.
I didn't want to talk about it, but I nodded and said I was thinking the same thing.
Back into that dreaded elevator, up we went. The baby floor looked uncannily like the cancer floor. They were on the same side of the hospital. But as we walked down the hall, rubbing sanitiser into our hands, I noticed the cheerful pink and blue bubbles on the outside of each door announcing, "Boy!" or "Girl!"
Rebecca's room was set up just like Risa's had been, only everything was reversed. It was like a mirror image. The bed was facing the other way, up against the opposite wall. The shelves, the TV, all opposite from where they'd been in Risa's room. And there was a crib. The whiteboard, instead of listing nurses' names and drugs to be fed into the I.V. at certain times as Risa's had, had the name of the midwife and in large letters, "Congratulations!" This room was a place of cheer. One thing only was exactly the same... the large window and the view it looked on.

I'll never forget the moment that my little nephew was placed into my arms, glorious in all his tiny perfection. He was so soft. I marveled at this little person who had so recently left the presence of God. Did he remember Risa? What had she told him about us? Did he know who I was? Beside me, Rebecca related the events that had transpired to bring him into this life. It was a story of pain and fatigue beyond anything she'd experienced before, and it was strange how similar it sounded to what Risa had had to go through. Something about this life-- it's hard to get in and it's hard to get out.
As I was thinking about this, my eyes were drawn again to that big window. Holding the newest member of our family (our eternal family) in my arms and feeling Risa so near, the veil felt very thin. I couldn't help marveling when I realized there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It stretched clear and bright and blue as far as the eye could see.

A friend told me the other night that peace doesn't necessarily come all at once, but over time, as we keep exercising faith in the Lord and obeying Him even when it's hard. This, he said, is the witness that comes after the trial of our faith.
I know that there are still many hard, lonely days ahead of me, but I have felt such peace and love from my Savior. As time goes by, I feel that I understand a little better. Just a little at a time. And while a cloudless sky may mean nothing to anyone else, it was exactly what I needed at the time and it served as a powerful reminder to me of what is real. The Lord is mindful of me and my family. Day by day, this pathways smooths as I

learn to love it.

My life flows on in endless song
above earth's lamentation.
I hear the sweet, tho' far-off hymn
that hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear the music ringing.
It finds an echo in my soul--
how can I keep from singing?

What tho' my joys and comforts die?
The Lord, my Savior, liveth!
What tho' the darkness gather 'round?
Songs in the night He giveth.
No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that refuge clinging.
Since Christ is Lord of Heav'n and Earth,
how can I keep from singing?

I lift my eyes, the cloud grows thin,

I see the blue above it.

And day by day, this pathway smooths

since first I learned to love it.

The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,

a fountain ever springing.

All things are mine, since I am His.

How can I keep from singing?

LIVE, Because You Can

I'm pretty much convinced that I live in the best area BYU has to offer, with some of the coolest people on this green earth. I'm not looking forward to Genevieve and Alex moving out this week. It's been such a fun term! Thank goodness I'll still have Nataly and Chelsea, along with all of my incredible neighbors!
It's been hard, being away from my family so soon after losing Risa, but I think it's been good for me. Admittedly, I have my days (well, it's usually nights) when I find myself wondering why I'm here, but I can't deny that this is where the Lord wants me to be, and I've been so blessed since my arrival. I've had the opportunity to meet some pretty amazing people, and I can feel my horizons expanding, my experiences growing, and my understanding of myself and other people stretching. Though I can't say that everything makes sense to me right now, I can say that I feel good about it and I'm ok with being patient. ...Most of the time.
I have my last Final for Spring term tomorrow morning, bright and early, so I really should be studying for that right now. Isn't it amazing how productive you can be when you're avoiding doing what you know you really should be doing? I finally cleaned my room yesterday, re-caulked my shower, put up the rest of the pictures my mother so kindly mailed to me, cleaned out my shelf of the pantry, posted to my blog, and saved all of the package peanuts from the massive box the pictures were mailed in by stuffing them into a huge black garbage bag, and now I'm posting to my blog again! Yay for me! ...But actually, bad for me, because I haven't even cracked open my D&C manual yet. Gargh. It's such a gorgeous day outside, and the pool is calling my name (which is crazy, considering I don't really care for swimming that much, and I'm kind of allergic to chlorine).
Alright, enough of this nonsense! I'm going to study now! For real. This is it. A beautiful day can only be made more beautiful by immersing myself in the Doctrine and Covenants, right? Right! So... here I go! Wish me luck!

Risa

I don't expect that very many people remember exactly what they were doing on March 31, 2011, about two and a half months ago, but I don't think I'll ever forget what I did that day. I woke up at around 5:00 am in my little sister Risa's room to find that my mom and oldest sister, Rachel, were kneeling at either side of Risa's bed, watching her breathe. It was exactly what we'd all been doing for the past two weeks, but this time something was different. Risa's breathing had changed. Again. I remember sitting up and feeling my heart constrict when I saw Rachel's hand resting on Risa's chest, feeling for her heart beat. "It's getting weaker," she informed me in a solemn whisper. It was the beginning of a very long day.

Risa was diagnosed with a rare form of pediatric ovarian cancer back in April of 2010, and that diagnosis changed all of our lives forever. It was a long year spent searching for a cure and watching helplessly as the cancer spread through her lungs, liver, and lymphatic system, and after we almost lost her in November, a family friend urged us to try an herb that had completely cured her friend of his cancer, along with several other people. I have to admit that from December through March, I thought that she was really getting better. I'd received a confirmation from the Lord that I should attend BYU in the Spring and Summer, and I, mere mortal that I am, took this confirmation as a sign that Risa would live. But the Lord had other plans in mind for me, my family, and my precious baby sister.

It was Friday, March 18th that I really consider the beginning of the end. I remember that I was excited to get home from work that day so I could be with Risa. She'd been my best friend for the past several years, but in recent months, I'd felt very distant from her. I couldn't relate to her struggles, and I'd felt bitter that every time I'd tried to help her she'd pushed me away and called for mom. But then she found that she didn't like to sleep alone, and I had gladly volunteered to sleep in her room with her, even if it meant waking up every few hours to help her in the night and being tired at work the next morning. I am so grateful for those few nights we spent together that week. We were able to reconnect with each other. As we giggled together, I told her I'd been praying for a way to be close to her again and she said, "So have I!" It was a beautiful moment, and every day that week I couldn't wait to get home, just to sit on the couch with her while she watched "Wizards of Waverly Place" and "Cake Boss", her new favorite shows since she'd finished all the episodes of "Monk". On that Friday the 18th, I watched several episodes of "Cake Boss" with her and tried to encourage her to eat. She was so skinny. Everything seemed to make her nauseous, except for chocolate milk and an occasional healthy smoothy made by mom. I remember that a popup on the TV informed us that the movie Megamind was available OnDemand and I told Risa that I really wanted to watch it with her, because it was hilarious and she hadn't seen it yet. We couldn't figure out how to watch it OnDemand (we're cool like that), so I said no worries, I wanted to buy it anyway. So I went out and bought it while Risa took a bath. When we sat down to watch the movie, Risa was confused. She kept asking the same questions over and over again, and found the presence of apple slices on a plate on the couch very disturbing. Finally she became so frustrated with her own confusion that she decided to go to bed. I was disappointed, but I wished her a good night, we exchanged "I love you"s, and I went to a party that my friend had invited me to. I ended up spending the night over there, and when I got home in the morning, Risa and my mom were both gone. I knew then that something was wrong. We were done with hospitals at that point, so why would they be gone so early in the day? I tried to push the warning feelings away. Maybe they were meeting with the naturopath.... I tried to focus on preparing for the talk I would give in sacrament meeting and the lesson I would teach in Relief Society the next day... but I couldn't stop worrying about Risa. I knew that there was a connection between her strange behavior that night before and her absence this morning. In the evening, I finally received a phone call from my dad telling me that I should go to the hospital. That's when I really knew that Risa was dying.

My brother and his wife and my grandparents all flew in the next day. For the next two weeks, we waited. For the last week of Risa's life, my mom, sisters and I watched her in shifts throughout the nights, listening as her breathing patterns changed.

The day of March 31, a Thursday, was a quiet one. Though I had expected every day for the past two weeks to be Risa's last, this one had a distinctly different feel to it. I was sitting at the foot of her bed with my hand on her shin when it happened. My family was all gathered around the bed. Rachel still had her hand on Risa's heart, feeling every precious, fragile heartbeat. My mother was holding Risa's hand and my dad was kneeling beside her. Reana was sitting at my feet, holding my hand. Rebecca and Blair sat on the bench against the wall. Dad had put on some spiritual music. Right as the song "God be With You Till We Meet Again" ended, at about 3:36 pm, Risa scrunched her face as if concentrating for a brief moment, and then her spirit left her body.

Rachel had been organizing a benefit marathon, called Running for Risa, to help raise money to pay off all of her hospital bills, and we decided that the marathon should commence. It happened on April 23, and that evening we had Risa's funeral. She was buried in a National Cemetery (thanks to my dad's military service) that didn't do burials on Saturdays, so her graveside service was held on the morning of Monday, April 25th and I left that afternoon for Utah. I started my first day of college at BYU the next morning.

Here is a Eulogy I wrote for Risa in my Public Speeking class this week:

With angelic brown eyes, thick hair the color of rich chocolate, and lips that curl upwards pleasantly at either end whether she's smiling or not, sixteen-year-old Risa Melody Whitaker lays on the floor beside her six-year-old autistic friend, David. She is smiling. The two of them take turns quoting the movie Finding Nemo, sound effects and all, as Risa encourages David to look in her eyes and rewards him with an enthusiastic shower of praise when he does. They have been at this game for two hours now, but Risa doesn't appear to be tired, and when David jumps up to climb the playset, she follows him without hesitation and the two of them continue their movie quotations as they pracariously balance on the plastic structure. This is only a tiny picture of how Risa spent up to 6 volunteered hours every week.

Dear Risa, my beloved little sister and best friend. Those who met her described her as joyful, lovely and virtuous.

Joyful--

Mom still remembers the first time it occurred to her that Risa was funny. She was four years old when she walked into the kitchen and asked: "Mom, what are we having for dinner?"

"Dog food," came the teasing reply.

Risa's shoulders dropped and she sighed, "Again?"

Risa was a devout optimist. She saw the good in everythin

g and everyone. After her cancer diagnosis, she wrote this entry in her journal: "I knew bad news was coming, but I didn't feel nervous. I felt very calm and ready. ... The Lord gave me instant strength and I felt assured that everything would be ok. I hugged my mom and then my dad. Really what hurt me the most was seeing my parents so worried and pained by the whole thing. Things are going to be different from now on, but the Lord is with me."

She never allowed anyone to feel down about her condition and kept laughter alive everywhere she went. One day she related to me her concern that she was shocking people with her cancer jokes, and she said: "But then I realized, it's my cancer, I can laugh if I want to!"

Her motto was this: "Don't merely get by because you have to-- live, because you can."

Lovely--

Asside from being physically beautiful (she had the longest eyelashes I've ever seen), Risa was gorgeous on the inside as well. One of her friends said that "Risa IS beauty."

She loved all things virtuous, lovely, and praiseworthy-- especially music and nature. She wrote in her journal: " Today we went to a John Shmidt concert. It was so touching... and funny. Music is amazing! I love it so much! It seems to reach small corners of your heart that words could never reach. The Spirit speaks through music!" And later, after a choir recital, she said, "One of the fastest and best ways to feel the Spirit is to sing praises to the Lord! So, Buddy the Elf pretty much got it right when he said, 'The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear.' It feels so good to belt it out!"

Virtuous--

When Risa was six years old, I was certain that she would grow up to be one of America's Most Wanted. To this day I carry scars on my arms as a testimony to her childhood rage issues. But through several years of fighting the beast within, she was able to overcome that obsticle. This was a pattern that continued for the rest of her life: inner struggles that she overcame with seeming ease, until there was not an unkind, or unhappy, bon

e in her body. Risa knew what was right, and was determined to be her best self. It's hard to find a page in her journal that does not contain some element of her testimony. She wrote, " I love my Savior with everything I am. I cannot go against what is real. To deny God's existance is to deny that I live. I know it and it's the truest reality I know. The best way I've heard it said is in the song 'I Testify': For God has written Jesus' na

me with pen of flame upon my soul, and how can I but testify of Jesus Christ, my Lord.' When I die, one thing I hope will be remem

bered about me is that I have an unwavering testimony of my Lord and Savior and I know for a fact that They live and that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is the true church of God, restored by His servant the prophet Joseph Smith and continued today by a true and living prophet, Thomas S. Monson! I love the gospel!"

Risa taught the gospel of Jesus Christ in the way she lived, and now she is happy to serve Him on the other side of the veil.

Easing Up and Feelin' Good

Hey all! So, it's been a while... so I thought I was due for an update.
So that whole purple bracelet thing? Yeeeah... that kinda disappeared. My workplace underwent some pretty big management changes and the new managers forbade the wearing of bracelets and rings at work (which I suppose makes sense, since I work with food sometimes), so I had to remove the thing and then I lost it and kind of forgot about it. BUT, I did learn a thing or two from it and now that I'm conscious of how much I actually do complain, I've found that I've been doing it less, without even thinking about it! In fact, I feel that I've progressed so much, and am continuing to progress enough, that I feel no need to pick up the challenge again. At least, not for now. It was a bit stressful. Productive, enlightening, challenging, yes! But stressful. With all of my school prepping and such, I'm pretty happy with the pace I'm going at now. Just livin' life and keeping it positive!
I taught a really great lesson two Sundays ago on Charity and I learned something pretty spectacular-- to develop feelings of Charity for others, you have to love yourself! I've heard it time and time again, but I think this time it really clicked. Whenever I hear people say that I need to love myself, it makes me cringe. I don't want to be full of myself! But now it all makes sense.
If all my thoughts about myself are negative (keeping in mind that I'm with myself 24/7), and I'm constantly putting myself down, then I'm filling my head with negativity and criticism. I've noticed that people who are really hard on themselves are often really hard on others, and now I see why. If I can't learn to forgive my own flaws and accept that I'm not perfect, how can I learn to forgive other peoples' shortcomings and love them for the good they do have? Often, I think I make myself out to be worse than I really am, choosing to focus on all the negatives and none of the positives, and I make other people out to be either just as bad as I am (to validate myself), or I make them out to be creatures without any flaws because I choose to see only their good points and none of their bad. Where's the victory in loving someone whom you believe has no flaws? There's a certain beauty in being able to look at myself and others, see the good and the bad and be full of love and optimism!
So anyway, that's what I've been thinking about lately. Cool stuff :)

Totally Stoked About School!

Yeeha! I am feeling so good about my life right now! I've been accepted into BYU's Spring/Summer Visiting Student program- a good way to get my foot in the door at the school I'm determined to attend! I'm going to be living with two of my very best friends in an apartment off campus, and I have a wonderful job that will help me earn the money to get there. BYU-Idaho also accepted me as a New Student, so I have the option of going there in the Fall if I feel it's right. In the meantime, I'm preparing for a mission and my bishop said I can start working on my mission papers in March!
I'm still not 100% positive when I should go on a mission, but I am 99.9% positive that I will go. I'd kind of like to attend a full semester of college in the Fall first, but at the rate of my current income, I won't have money to do that and go on a mission right after. I've got some time to think about it though, and I'm really not worried at all. After all of the miracles I've seen the Lord perform in my life, I am completely confident that if the Lord wants me to do school in the Fall and a mission, the money will come. I don't know how, but there's not a single doubt in my mind that it will if it's what the Lord wants. If not, I'll skip school in the Fall for a mission and money will be provided somehow when I get home to go to school. I have no worries, no doubts, about my future. At this point I feel confident that what needs to happen will happen, and that if I do all I'm supposed to do, and do everything in my power to follow the promptings of the Spirit, my life is in the hands of the Lord and everything will happen as it should. I'm young, but I've certainly lived long enough to see that the Lord cares about me and that nothing is impossible with him. I am SO excited to see what He has in store for me this new year!

Day 1

There's something about waking up every morning to "Day 1", day after day, week after week, that can make me feel like I'm in that movie Groundhog Day. My first "Day 1" with the purple bracelet went well. It was a little surprising to realize how much I complain and grumble in my head while I'm at work. Did I complain out loud? I certainly did! And I switched the bracelet to my other wrist with a small chuckle and an "oopsy-daisey!" This only happened 3 or 4 times, and, considering how full of negativity my mind seemed to be, I was proud of myself for only voicing my thoughts a few times. I also noticed that about 90% of coworker-to-coworker interaction seems to be gossip or complaints. The hardest part for me was feeling like I couldn't join in the conversation anymore without having to switch my bracelet! How sad is that?
The real surprise came after work, though, when I was with a friend whom I've always considered to be a positive influence on me. After just a few minutes in the car with her I ended up switching the bracelet back and forth more times than I had the entire day at work! And this wasn't because she initiated the negative conversation, either. Looking back, I think the majority of my complaints to her were about myself- putting myself down to be funny. I do that a lot. Comedians do that a lot! Why? I think it's because when a comedian makes fun of his own stupidity, it's a safe joke because he's not offending someone else by calling THEM stupid. I think that's why I never saw the harm in putting myself down for the sake of a joke before- because I wasn't hurting anyone else's feelings. But are they really "safe" jokes?
I think of the low opinion I have of myself most of the time. I tell myself that by laughing about my flaws, it makes them not bother me anymore. And there may be some truth to that, but not in a good way. With this new perspective of words spoken creating reality, I realize that by putting myself down so much, and constantly bringing up my flaws, I'm probably actually making them worse and just shrugging it off. Does it make me happy? No. Does it make other people happy? I know I'd like to think so when the jokes come out of my mouth, but thinking on it now... it really bothers me when people I love put themselves down, even in jest. My friends and family probably feel the same way about me. So that's an area I've been working on quite bit, and I actually have started to feel better about myself, and more motivated to do and become something great- just by not saying the negative things that come to my head about myself! It's crazy how that works, isn't it?
Dr. Bowen, in his Complaint Free World book, says there are four stages a person goes through in their process to become complaint-free. They are 1) Unconscious Incompetence- when you don't realize how much you complain, 2) Conscious Incompetence- when you realize how much you complain, 3) Conscious Competence- when you realize that you are not complaining, and 4) Unconscious Competence- when you don't complain anymore and don't even think about it.
By my second "Day 1", I felt like I had entered stage 2, Conscious Incompetence. At work I struggled to find ways to converse without gossiping, complaining, or criticizing. I found that it was hard for me not to complain with someone else who was because I wanted to relate with them and validate their feelings- make them feel understood. Over the next few days, I struggled with that a lot. How could I refuse to take part in negative conversation without making my coworkers feel judged or misunderstood or uncomfortable? These feelings of mine were painfully validated in the Dr. Bowen's book when he says:
"People tend to run along a continuum in degrees of rarely complaining to constantly complaining. If a person within a group falls too far out of the norm for the group, in time that person will find that he or she is no longer welcome. Again, to look at complaining as a drug, many of us have been in situations where others were drinking excessively, smoking, or doing drugs. If someone didn't go along with the group, the individuals in the group felt threatened. My personal theory regarding this phenomenon is that the individuals practicing the destructive behaviors know they are not making healthy choices and feel this magnified in comparison to the person who is not imbibing. When we're around others who complain more or less than us, it feels uncomfortable. Our vibration levels are different and people of different energy repel each other." Page 54-55 And then on page 57: "Misery not only loves company, it derives validation from it."
I hated feeling like the outsider at work. I've always gotten along so well with my coworkers. I didn't want that to change. So, I'm ashamed to say... I removed that bracelet. Dun, dun, dun! My thinking was that if doing the 21-day challenge meant opening my eyes to, not only MY complaints, but to all of the complaining around me, thus leading me to feel like I needed to choose different company, I didn't want anything to do with it. How un-Christlike that seemed! The Savior never left his friends because they weren't perfect, so why should I?
I suffered several days in this torment. I wondered what was right. I wondered if it was really possible to try to be like the Savior without making everyone else around me feel like I was judging them. During this time, I felt anything BUT sunny and positive!
.... And then one day it just clicked. I was making a much bigger deal of this whole thing than I needed to! None of my coworkers had ever said I was making them feel judged- I'd just assumed it. It was all in my head. And all of that nonsense about "not fitting in anymore" was also ridiculous because I already AM different from most of the people that I work with! I always have been different and I've always loved feeling that difference. I'm a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I don't drink. I don't smoke. I don't have a cup of coffee in the morning. I pray over my food at lunch every day. I don't work on Sundays. I am an odd-ball. I love being an odd-ball! I've never judged my coworkers for not being like me before- why would I now? The way I live is already so different from the way they live, why was I making such a big deal about making the way I talk different, too?
After that, the clouds broke and the sun shone through again and everything made sense. Of course I could improve myself without putting others down! I can still love and admire all of the people around me for being the wonderful people that they are, just as I always have! It was after this realization came to me, and I took up the purple bracelet challenge again, that I read Dr. Bowen's method of non-judgmental escape from negative conversation:
"When you are with others and the conversation begins to devolve into negativity, just sit back and observe it. Don't try and change others. If anyone asks why you're not complaining, just show them your purple bracelet and tell them you are "in training" to be a complaint free person," Page 68
This post is getting very long, so I'm just going to conclude with 2 thoughts that I've been focusing on and that keep me going:
1) "Our thoughts create our world and our words create out thoughts."
2) "When you complain, you are actually repelling what you profess to want." Page 56
Actually, I'm going to share the whole quote for that last one, because it's so eye-opening:
"In Illusions, Richard Bach wrote a simple and profound truth: 'Like attracts like.' People who are alike, be they complainers or grateful people, attract one another. And people who are not alike repel one another. We are all energy beings, and energy that doest not vibrate at the same frequency does not harmonize.
"Thoughts, too, are energy. And you attract things that harmonize with your thought patterns and repel things that do not. Your words indicate, reinforce, and perpetuate your thoughts. So when you complain, you are actually repelling what you profess to want. Your complaining pushes away from you things that you say you'd like to have. I know of a group of women who get together each week to 'support one another.' This 'support' consists primarily of complaining about men. From what I understand, their favorite themes are 'men are selfish,' 'men don't want to commit,' and 'you can't trust men.' Not surprisingly, none of these women is able to sustain a happy, healthy relationship with a man. Do they want such a relationship? Sure, but through their complaints they are sending out energy vibrations that 'men are no good,' causing no 'good men' to appear in their lives. They are creating this reality with their complaints."

Hitting the Road

"Our thoughts create our lives and our words indicate what we are thinking." -Will Bowen

I've heard many statements similar to this one, stating that I am what I think about, and that a man is shaped by the words he speaks. I came across an incredible scripture in John a few months ago that says that words are like food for our spirit- you can either feed your spirit junk or good, healthy words. I've always tried to keep my language clean. I don't cuss. I steer clear of dirty subjects (most of the time). I avoid entertainment that has a lot of profanity. I've always considered myself to be pretty good about speaking healthy words.

I tend to get a little lazy and grumpy during the winter. Something about all the cold and darkness just seems to suck the energy right out of me until I feel like a blob of gray that can only roll around in search of food and warmth. Never mind going to the gym- it's hard enough getting out of bed for work! As for fruits and vegetables? My stomach laughs at the thought of such things as I consistently reach for the empty carbs: steaming pasta, warm breads smothered in butter, milky chocolate, toasted pastries with fruity fillings, chunky broccoli cheddar soup and succulent pork loin in a sugared apple sauce. As my waistline expands, my self-image shrinks until I'm embarrassed to be alive. "Poor me!" I cry between handfuls of leftover Christmas candy, "I feel like poop-on-a-stick and I don't have the self-control to do anything about it!"

I caught myself in the middle of a complaint-fest at work the other day. It surprised me, when I stopped and replayed the last five minutes of the conversation I was having with my friend, to realize that it had been nothing but negative comments about myself, my surroundings, and my life. I pointed this fact out to my friend apologetically and quickly moved on to talk about something positive. I excused this situation as being out-of-the ordinary for me because I'd just been having a bad day. When I caught myself in the same situation again the next day and the next week, I laughingly said to my friend, "Wow, I'm sorry, I complain a lot, don't I."

I fully expected her to deny it. She wouldn't do me the dishonor. She shrugged like a good friend, searched for the right words for a moment, and then said, "It's ok. You've been having a hard time."

Ouch.

Not ouch because what she'd said was rude or unfriendly. Ouch because the truth hurts: I am a complainer.

"It's the winter," I comforted myself. "I'm only complaining so much because I turn into this little beast in the winter. I'm not really like this all the time."

Am I?

Now I come to think about it, I find plenty to complain about in the Summer, too. I complain about the heat, about how I look in shorts, about how I look in a bathing suit, about how I eat too much ice cream, and blah, blah, blah.

It's silly, isn't it? Yes, it is. It's very silly.

So if it's true that I am shaped by my thoughts, and that I become what I think it seems reasonable to say that if I can get myself to naturally think what I want to be, I will become that. If I want to be a positive, upbeat, healthy person, I need to think like one!

Therefore, my goal for 2011 is to be a positive, complaint-free woman by the end of the year! Call this my happy blog, my appreciate-life blog, positive weight-loss plan blog, my goal-setting blog, my encourage-others blog, my just-because blog! ...But where do I start?

In his book, A complaint Free World, Will Bowen states: "Our thoughts create our lives and our words indicate what we are thinking." His philosophy is that if we get into the habit of speaking positively, it trains our minds to start thinking that way as well. So my first plan of action is to tackle Bowen's 21-day challenge to become complaint-free in word.

The challenge is this: I wear a purple Complaint Free World bracelet throughout the day and try to go 21 days straight without complaining, gossiping, or criticizing. If I catch myself doing any one of those three things, I switch the purple bracelet to my other wrist and begin all over again.

I started the challenge on Monday. Now it's Thursday and I actually did make a full 24 hours complaint-free!... Until I slipped and had to start all over again. Gargh. But that's ok! Because if I can do it once, I can do it again! Brace yourselves, folks, I'm hittin' the road to positive-thinking!